


Marked

by Augustus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-14
Updated: 2005-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: There is always a final test.





	

For some reason, Draco had assumed it would be a private ceremony. Instead, he found himself in the middle of a silent but imposing circle, surrounded by figures draped in black robes, their identities hidden behind contrasting white masks. Despite the disguise, he found it easy to recognise his father and aunt, as well as two men whose heavy build identified them as being Crabbe and Goyle's respective fathers, although it was impossible to discern which was which. The rest of the circle didn't matter. Earlier in the evening, he might have made small talk with them at his parents' ball, but now they were no more than silent onlookers, drawn here at their master's request. 

The Dark Lord himself stood no more than two paces in front of Draco, close enough for Draco to hear the rasping, snakelike sound of his breath. The breeze of the afternoon had dropped; the night was thick and still and not even the light from the stars above them seemed to penetrate the darkness. It was just as Draco had imagined it. He stood, head bowed, waiting to resign his life and his freedom freely for the sake of following one man. As though he actually had a choice.

A long, nervous silence. Draco couldn't tell whether it was for effect or simply sadism on Voldemort's behalf. He bit down on his lower lip – hard – willing himself not to fidget or falter. A slight taint of blood struck his tastebuds and he focussed his attention on the pain. Better to sink himself deeply into that real, solid sensation than to think of possibilities yet to come. Better to fold himself inwards into that one, sickening taste. Better to freeze, holding his breath and that long, stagnant moment.

When the Dark Lord spoke, Draco allowed himself to breathe, his fingernails pressing ever deeper into the flesh of his palms. He waited. He listened. His thumbs quivered slightly as the Dark Lord's wishes were revealed.

"You have proved yourself willing." The quiet hiss of the Dark Lord's words was caught and amplified by the surrounding silence. "You will now seek to prove yourself able." 

He waved a hand and a circle of light began to seep from the darkness. In the centre of the circle of grass that was revealed sat a gilt birdcage. Confined within its bars, Draco's owl, Persephone, hooted softly, a quiet greeting to her doting master. Draco's stomach twisted and became granite. The Dark Lord's words took form within his mind before they were actually spoken. A sacrifice. A blood gift.

"Kill it."

Draco blinked. Twice. He reached for his wand, then watched it twitch and shiver in his left hand. Lifting his gaze to the eyes of the Dark Lord, he felt his veins constrict as his blood turned to sleet. This was more than a challenge; it was a casting aside of what had been, of the boy he had lived as, perhaps of the man he might otherwise have become. Draco understood. His feeling of bereavement began in his ankles and tingled when it reached his toes. Arm straight, he raised his wand. Pointed it. Exhaled a silent goodbye.

Bile freckled his words. "Avada Kedavra!" 

For an elastic moment, the world turned green. When the splashes of light retreated, all that remained glowing was the harsh twist of the Dark Lord's smile.

"You are a true Malfoy," he said, and for the first time, Draco felt the weight of the words as though they were an unbreakable curse. 

His eyes moved, deceitfully, to the now-bare patch of ground. Loss throbbed within his chest. Draco cared for so few things, but yet a weakness had still been found. And now Persephone...

"Hold out your arm." The Dark Lord's fingers were cold and fleshless as they circled Draco's wrist. "You are most fortunate to be one of my chosen few."

The pain was like nothing he might ever have imagined, but Draco stood motionless as his master's symbol was burnt into the pale skin of his forearm. His thoughts were elsewhere: winter nights in front of the drawing room hearth, the colour of the leaves as autumn painted Hogwarts in reds and golds, a crescendo of wingbeats at morning mail. He could taste blood again, could smell it in the air, and the eager movements of the Death Eaters fluttered at the edges of his vision as the circle grew tighter and more suffocating. Drowning, he stretched towards the skies.

The waxing moon shone green.


End file.
